Hope's Daughter
by RuanaRulane
Summary: Themis Trevelyan was good at hiding things - from herself most of all. But the Inquisition wasn't the place for things to stay hidden. When Cassandra uncovered the secret of the Seekers, the Inquisitor was forced to confront her own buried truths - and finally admit the real reason why she'd been at the Conclave in the first place.
1. A Prisoner on the Throne

**"Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage." - St Augustine**

 **Well. After completing my little one-shot Backdraft, it became clear that Themis wasn't done; so here we are.  
**

(I still, sadly, do not own Dragon Age.)

* * *

The sun had shaken off its early redness and chased away the morning mist. It was looking like a beautiful day; and it was late enough for the Herald to be up.

Cullen rapped on the door of her hut, shifting his feet nervously during the pause before receiving leave to enter.

She was dressed, all right, but looking rumpled, as if she hadn't bothered getting undressed before going to sleep. She sat on her dishevelled bed with her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. He closed the door behind him.

"Good morning, Herald."

"Commander."

"I suppose you know why I'm here."

"I was expecting the Seeker. Yesterday."

"Leliana and Josephine didn't believe that would go so well." He frowned. "I'm still not sure why they thought it should be me, but here I am. May I sit?"

Her gaze didn't move from the wall, and her waved hand seemed to indicate indifference more than assent. Cullen shifted the room's single chair closer before sitting down, drawing a deep breath and launching into his semi-rehearsed speech.

"You have to know you can't do what you did yesterday. If anyone else here decides to walk out into demon-haunted wilderness without backup or anybody knowing where they are - it's their call. You might quite literally have the fate of Thedas in your hand. If you take risks like that, you're risking everyone." He paused. Her face was stony, eye contact determinedly absent. "I know you barely know anyone here, but this isn't going to work if you don't trust us. Me. _Somebody._ Please. Is there anything else out there, any unfinished business that might induce you to be so reckless again?"

She propped her heels on the bedframe and hugged her knees. "I was just out for a walk."

"No, you weren't. First, demon-haunted wilderness. Second - well, I'll get to that in a minute. Answer my question. Please."

Her jaw worked. When she spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "There's nothing."

"Well, if anything does arise - please, talk to us about it. We'll do what we can to help, I promise."

After a pause, she nodded once.

"All right. Now... forgive me for coming down hard, but I have to mention that you were in less danger than you thought. If you had got into trouble, there were a couple of Leliana's people watching you."

Her gaze flickered for just a moment.

Cullen forged ahead. "I know where you went and what you found there. Herald... Themis, I am truly sorry."

Nothing.

"Who was it?"

The words were dragged as if in chains through her clenched teeth. "Not. Your. Concern."

"I know that. I just thought... maybe you'd feel better if..." He faltered, feeling his words slap uselessly against the wall of her silent grief. Bereft of better ideas, he rose, his hand reaching hesitantly for her shoulder.

Her head turned and for a heartbeat she met his eye; unguarded, he thought, for the first time since they'd met. Just a heartbeat, then the gates behind her eyes snapped shut again and her gaze went to the floor, as determinedly as it had previously been on the wall. Her position had shifted, ever so slightly, and the only word he had for it was 'cringe'. Especially after what he'd seen in her eyes. Maker, he'd thought he was through with mages looking at him like that. That horrible mix of fear and resignation; the knowledge that one had no power, nowhere to run and no reason to hope that tomorrow would be any better. If he persisted in trying to touch her, she wouldn't stop him. She didn't know she had a choice.

He drew back. "I'm sorry, I didn't – I wouldn't..."

Someone else might have asked how the Herald of Andraste could possibly think herself powerless. To him, that look in her eye was all he needed. She'd spent most of her life at the mercy of templars – unaccountable forces being in charge of her fate was how her world worked, and the worst of it was, she wasn't wrong. If the Inquisition's inner circle decided to harm her, or throw her back in the dungeon, she couldn't stop them. If she could leave – he really hoped she'd never push that question – she'd be back out in a world that had been a bad place for a mage even before she'd been accused of killing the Divine and branded with unknown magic. And the mob outside? They'd turned from lynching to worship at a snap; they could turn back as easily.

He'd actually imagined he could _comfort_ her! Of all the stupid, self-absorbed... There wasn't a damned thing he could say that would convince her not to be afraid of him.

He sank to one knee and bowed his head, hoping against hope she'd see the sincere penitent he wanted to be, not the monstrous hypocrite he felt like. "I presumed. Forgive me."

Not expecting a response, he was not disappointed. He stayed down for a few moments before rising and going to the door. It came to mind that she hadn't eaten since she'd returned the previous day.

"May I get someone to bring you breakfast?"

Her head was still down. A slow nod.

"All right." He slipped out, spotting Varric from the corner of his eye and hurriedly turning away to close the door. He knew his face was sometimes an open book, and right now that book was entitled 'Guilt'. A swift stop by the mess, and then to the war room where Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra were waiting.

"How did it go?" asked Leliana.

"Badly. Why was I the best one for this job again?"

"What happened, exactly?"

Shamefaced, he told them.

Leliana nodded. "Hm. About what I was expecting."

"You...?"

"Wait just a minute." The outrage in Cassandra's voice flooded Cullen with relieved gratitude. "Is this why you insisted on him going? Because she's afraid of him?"

"She's afraid of us all, Cassandra. Just Cullen the worst."

"Why?" Hearing the plaintive note in his voice, he tried to pull himself together. "Maybe if I told her I don't have my templar powers any more..."

Josephine lifted an eyebrow. "Are you planning to become a eunuch while you're at it?"

"What? You mean- I'd nev-."

"We know that, Cullen," said Cassandra. "We also know I'd break pieces off any man who tried it. She doesn't." She whirled on Leliana. "And you put him alone with her, in her bedroom? What were you thinking?"

"That we needed to know, and that he'd reassure her."

"Oh, well, I did a wonderful job of that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

He stuttered in confusion, looked to Cassandra for help; but she had abandoned the offensive and was frowning thoughtfully.

Josephine smiled. "Oh, Commander. Don't you know how many men see a woman's fear as their cue to go in for the kill? Or how many perfectly well-intentioned ones would have kept on at her until she'd put on a show of accepting his apology and understanding that he'd meant no harm?" She rolled her eyes at the foolishness of men. "You handled it beautifully."

"That's right," said Leliana. "It's no use telling her she doesn't need to be afraid of you - you showed her. There aren't many men I'd trust to be such a perfect gentleman. Well done."

Cullen felt his face getting warm, the barrage of praise playing havoc with his serried internal ranks of self-loathing and anger at Leliana's manipulation. Finally he ducked his head and muttered rebelliously, "I'd've preferred not to have scared her in the first place."

"She's going to fear us until she learns to trust us. Believe me, what you just did brought that day closer."

"I must say she hides it well," murmured Josephine.

Something clicked quietly in the back of Cullen's head. Of course, _that_ was the uneasy thread of familiarity he'd been trying to pin down - Lachlan Surana and his calm, veiled stare. "Naturally. Lock children up under the gaze of templars, some of them learn to hide things very well indeed - and not just fear." He furrowed his brow. "Uh, until we know a bit more about her - let's make sure she doesn't end up in a position where she could get away with setting Chancellor Roderick on fire."

The three women looked at him.

"I'm not saying she _would_. It's just a precaution."

Cassandra huffed. "I certainly won't be shedding any tears if that little weasel ends up a charred corpse. In any case, he'll be safe enough while we're away looking for this Mother Giselle. Unless anyone thinks now I shouldn't take the Herald?"

"We might as well clap her in irons and have done with it," countered Josephine. "She'll never trust us if we don't trust her."

A general mutter of assent, Cassandra included.

"Have we found out any more about her history?" asked Cullen.

Leliana sighed and shook her head. "Nothing reliable. She has the right accent and diction, the current Bann's children are known for their red hair, and one of his daughters is indeed a mage. I just can't be sure she's really _this_ mage. No official delegation from Ostwick, where the Circle is still standing, arrived at the Conclave, but I haven't got any certain word yet about whether one set out. And there is a rumour of some kind of incident on the Trevelyan estate about the right time – I'm trying to pin that down. Now we can surmise somebody came here with her, who hid out in the mountains rather than actually go to the Conclave – somebody she cared enough about to risk running off by herself. But aside from that..." She stepped over to the map and pressed a finger down in the Free Marches. "The biggest thing wrong with her story is that there isn't one. Ask her how she got here and she just says she left Ostwick with the First Enchanter's permission and refuses to say anything else. Until we pull her from the wreckage, her life's a blank slate."

Cullen contemplated the way between Leliana's fingertip and Haven; wilderness and sea, and the pockets of civilisation where no outsider's welcome was assured in times of war, a mage's far less. He thought of the thin, frightened young woman who had left the straitened but sheltered life of a Circle and somehow crossed that distance. What had she been through? What had she had to do to survive?

Was she afraid because he was a templar? A man? Both?

"She's lived in a Circle," he said. "Take it from me, that much is true."

"It's early days yet," Leliana replied. "We'll turn up more."

"What should I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"When I see her. How do I...?"

Cassandra sighed impatiently. "Maybe you missed the part where Leliana sent you to the Herald because she trusted you to behave like a decent human being without being coached. You _are_ a decent human being. Just don't overthink it."

"I hate to bring it up," Josephine put in. "But she disappeared for most of yesterday and she's about to be gone for some time. If the people don't get to see her today, it might... not be good."

"She's grieving," Cullen frowned.

"Everybody's grieving," riposted Cassandra. "Maybe Varric will help - she's not afraid of him too, is she?"

Leliana shook her head. "No, he's a good choice. I'll have a word with him if she hasn't appeared by noon."

* * *

He stumbled over to her as she dropped to her knees in the snow; froze midway through bending to pick her up. He'd never made to touch her again, not since the next time he saw her. She'd been talking and smiling and once again carrying herself with apparent confidence; and she'd walked up to within arm's reach of Cullen as if it was nothing, as if she hadn't cowered from his touch that very morning. He'd always assumed she was faking to some degree - Maker knew, he had to put up a good front himself a lot of the time - but not how much. A Herald was required, so a Herald she would be. He'd wondered how far it was because she believed in what they were trying to do, and how far it was just to keep the Inquisition's leaders happy.

In the weeks that followed, Leliana had assured him that the Herald's growing assurance was not entirely feigned, but the sight of that pitifully trapped creature huddled on her bed had haunted him. Whenever he'd been around her, he'd had to bury the mad urge to do exactly what Josephine had praised him for not doing, to keep apologising until she said she wasn't afraid of him, to, Maker preserve him, _hold_ her and make her understand that whatever she had been though, it was over, that anybody who tried to hurt her would have him to deal with.

And now, she had – somehow – made it out of Haven and was collapsed at his feet, exhausted and freezing, and he... _couldn't_ touch her. The fear of her looking at him like that, ever again...

Head hanging, she reached out to claw blindly at his thigh. His paralysis broke and he swept her up, trying to angle his arms so that there was a minimum of metal bits poking into her. If he failed, she didn't seem to care; an arm hooked itself around his neck, then he jumped at the feel of warm breath and freezing nose against his throat.

"It's all right," he whispered, not knowing whether she heard him, perhaps rather preferring it if she didn't. "I'll take it from here. Nobody's going to hurt you."


	2. Backdraft

**Hello and thank you to everyone who read and followed. This tale began with Backdraft and so here it is; but as fitting it in properly required some heavy rewriting - including the removal of one section to a later chapter - I finally decided to leave the original one-shot up for the time being.**

* * *

His concentration fixed on a map of the Western Approach, Cullen didn't immediately look up when he heard someone entering his office. Abstractedly, he waited for them to announce themselves... but after the door closed, there was only silence. Silence, and a palpable tension that made his skin prickle.

He looked up to see the Inquisitor standing there. But he'd never seen her in a state like this before. Red as her short hair was, she could be described as fiery only in the sense that she was rather good at setting her enemies aflame. To see her flushed, fists clenched, eyes blazing, was... disturbing.

"Inquisitor?"

Her lips drew back from her teeth. She took a couple of steps forward.

The prickling was getting worse. Some deeply unpleasant possibilities were suggesting themselves. He sternly overruled his hand's inclination to reach for his sword. "Themis? What's the matter?"

Her lips made it to a full-on snarl. There was just the desk between the two of them now.

"Themis... honey... whatever it is, just tell me and I'll do what I can to fix it."

"Fix it?" With a bound she was on the desk, one footed planted on Adamant and the other on Harding's report. She leaned down. "How are you going to _fix it_? Give me the last fifteen years of my life back, maybe?"

 _Oh._ "That I can't do."

"You think you get to judge us? You don't even know how fucking _hard_ it is for your hair to not be on fire right now!"

"Um. Thank you."

"What do you mean, thank you? You shouldn't have to _thank me_ for not setting you on fire! That's fucking _basic_! I don't thank you for not spitting in my food!"

"Good point."

"You never liked us angry, did you? Fear was good, fear you were happy with, but not the stuff that comes with it. Anger, resentment, the things that might actually make us harder to control. We were supposed to be fucking _grateful_ you took us away from our families and locked us up. You told us to mutilate ourselves, and you were more than happy to finish the job if we didn't do it well enough!"

She gulped a breath. Cullen had a sense she might finally be getting near the heart of the matter.

"They knew," she hissed. "They _always fucking knew._ "

"Who? Knew what?"

"That Tranquility was reversible. As for who, every Lord Seeker ever, apparently. Maybe others. Maybe the Divine knew all along what Pharamond would find."

"Cassandra told you this?"

"Of course it doesn't matter to you. Nobody ever threatened to hollow you out for – for being a person."

"It matters."

"Oh, right." She straightened up and folded her arms. "Kirkwall was worse than the Ostwick Circle ever was. Where did you used to work, again?"

"That's why it matters. Can we maybe talk about this without you standing on my desk?"

Themis scowled, but sat down in the southern Approach and lowered her toes to the floor.

"All right. Now, if you want to discuss what went on in Kirkwall, and why I didn't do more to stop it, we can do that. But aside from the part about the Lord Seekers, you already knew everything you've just been yelling about. So why now?"

She looked away, picked at a fingernail and kicked her feet.

 _Good. Right question._ He resisted the urge to fill the silence himself, and waited.

"I don't know," she muttered.

Cullen kept quiet.

"I... thought I was on board with the Chantry's way of doing things. I thought I'd made my peace with what they had to do when my power manifested. But then Cassandra told me what she found in the book, and suddenly there was this... rage."

"You'd never felt it before?"

"Not... I don't know. Showing anger has never been a healthy thing for me to do. My family was big on self-control, and of course when I had templars watching me for corruption or uncontrolled magic... worse still. I've been suppressing my anger out of existence since I was young. But when I got furious, it felt – familiar."

"As if it had been there all along. You'd just taught yourself not to feel it."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

He smiled ruefully. "I spent a long time suppressing everything _but_ anger."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you. Sorry."

"Never mind. I've given many mages cause to yell at me, and most of them died or got made Tranquil before they had the chance. We'll just say you stand in for one of them – this time. I'm not about to be your dummy for every templar who ever treated you badly."

She snorted. "Between being a Trevelyan and a good little Andrastian, I had it easy. There aren't more than one or two templars I've got a personal beef with. Another reason why my rage surprised me."

"Well, it's not just the templars you're angry with, is it?" he asked, turning to lean on the desk beside her.

"What do you mean?"

"The not-setting-my-hair-on-fire part of your rant - that's nobody's fault. Nobody human, anyway."

"I lied. It's not actually all that hard. I'm better trained than that."

"But you said it, notwithstanding. Let's see... you were born with magic. Nobody knows _why_ that happens, but no doubt the Maker could have prevented it if he'd wanted to. Then, because the Chantry – His Chantry – decreed it, you had to submit to the judgement of non-mages who could never truly understand what you have to go through. Then there's this," he touched her left hand, "and on top of all that, you meet a... creature who's actually been to what was the Golden City, and he tells you the Maker wasn't there at all."

"He might have lied."

"Why lie to some insect you mean to squash? Don't tell me that hasn't crossed your mind. I can see how you might be angry with the Maker. Or be having a crisis of faith. Or both."

She didn't speak, but the corner of her mouth turned down, and she swallowed audibly.

"If it's any consolation, the only part of this that surprises me is that you didn't _know_ you were angry."

"I... you thought before this I was angry?"

"Oh, yes. Right from the start you made me nervous – and no, it wasn't that I fancied you, that came later. It took me a while to put my finger on it, but finally I realised how much you reminded me of Lachlan Surana."

"The Warden? Of course, I should've realised you knew him."

" 'Knew' might be putting it a bit high. I don't think anybody at the Circle really knew him – certainly none of the templars. The thing about him... I noticed it most when someone was in trouble. Not him, of course, the first time _he_ ever got into trouble was the day Duncan recruited him..."

"What?"

"Ah." Cullen smiled drily. "You've only heard the official version, then. Remind me to fill you in some other time. Anyway – I expect it was the same at Ostwick – when one apprentice gets into trouble in front of others, most of those others will look anywhere but at the templars. Some might meet your eye, let you see they're afraid – or angry, or resentful – but just occasionally you'd get one who'd do neither. Who'd look straight back at you and not show a single thing. That was Lachlan. Whenever I looked into his face, I couldn't guess what he might be thinking, I just always had this feeling that he was... making notes. And when I met you... you gave me the same feeling, sometimes. Especially when the Chancellor was carrying on about having you dragged off in chains. I'd see you give him that look, and suddenly it was ten years ago."

"Well, I can't say I'm not flattered to be compared to the Hero of Ferelden, but I think I'm missing something. How do you get from that to me being angry?"

"The bit you're missing is what happened the last time we met. I've told you about... well, you know … look, uh..."

"What did you do, and how high is it on your list of things you're not very proud of?"

He rubbed at his neck. "Is it that obvious? It's a strong contender for number one."

Themis folded her arms. "Well. I've never heard of the Warden going anywhere near Kirkwall, so I'm going to guess this was just after he killed Uldred."

"Yes."

"At which point I'm certain you weren't the only one calling for Annulment."

 _Maker, she's good._ "The loudest, though."

"Which would have involved the deaths of mages the Warden knew and may have considered friends, who I expect had been through just as much as you had."

"Yes."

"And he got angry. But how do you know that it wasn't just then?"

He sighed. "I don't, not for sure. It was just the way he looked at me. It was the same way he always did, but... not. When I looked into his eyes that day, I was certain of two things. One, if he hadn't been in the middle of negotiating for the mages' help stopping the Blight, he'd have killed me painfully right there, and never lost a wink of sleep. Two, he had been very angry for a very long time. It had only just become safe for him to show it. I could be wrong, of course, but after what I saw that day... well, there was more than one reason I found it hard to trust mages."

"And yet you trusted me."

"Oh yes. You, Lachlan, the few others like you – mages that controlled are going to be the last to let demons in. That's how I see it, and so far I've been right as far as I know. So with fear of corruption out of the way, as long as you needed the Inquistion, I trusted you."

Her eyes narrowed. "And then you sealed the deal by making me the head of the whole mess. You sly dog."

"No – well, yes and no. By the time we got here, I knew you better than I ever knew Lachlan. My part in the decision wasn't all _that_ calculated."

"And what makes you think the Themis you think you know isn't just another careful facade?"

"What makes you think I'm not actually an undercover templar just waiting to bring you down and Tranquilise every mage I can get my hands on? There comes a time you have to decide whom you trust."

"Shit. I _knew_ you were only pretending I could beat you at chess."

He smiled and ventured an arm around her waist. She didn't move closer, but didn't shake him off either. Instead she looked into his face, brow slightly furrowed. He wiped the smile off and waited.

"You said something about discussing Kirkwall. Only if you want to..."

He put his hand back on the desk. Did he want to? He'd never really talked about it. He was afraid to now; to look into those eyes and see judgement, to hear that she found his justifications wanting.

But if she _didn't_ judge... if maybe...

If she could still accept him...

"I was willing to do almost anything to keep mages from hurting other people," he blurted, and then more words came tumbling out. "There were many times I think now I should have been less harsh, that I caused suffering without sufficient reason. But I never completely lost sight of the other side of the coin. I never forgot that I was supposed to keep other people from hurting mages, too, and I... really believe that even at my worst I never harmed a mage just because I wanted to. But not all my brethren were like that. Some were even more extreme than I was, and some were sadists, and some were just selfish and lazy. And the more Meredith lost her grip on reality, the easier it was for them to get around me and anyone else who might try to rein them in.

"Make no mistake, there was a genuine problem, right up to the First Enchanter. The kind of magic he used at the end... you don't just work that out on the spot. He'd been studying blood magic, even as he decried Meredith's efforts to root it out. It wasn't just templar over-zealousness, or... living in a prison. There were too many mages turning to forbidden arts, too many demons around for one city. Hawke told me she found things, evidence that the Imperium built Kirkwall for some purpose we don't know. Mass sacrifice of slaves, deliberate efforts to weaken the Veil, the kind of thing that _lingers_ even centuries later... she thinks there should never be another Circle there.

He lowered his gaze. "But still... It was no secret that Meredith wielded the brand under circumstances which were supposedly against the Chantry's rules. Just the occasional 'extreme case' at first, but then after she realised she could get away with it... And the unofficial abuses... I managed to put a stop to some of it, but a lot of the time Meredith overruled me, and... and, it was so easy to tell myself it was just a few bad apples and once we'd got the mages settled down there'd be plenty of time to root them out, and anyway if anything really wrong was going on, surely the Seekers would step in... " He rubbed at his forehead. "Only now I think most of the Seekers gave as much of a damn about mages being abused as the general public does. As long as Meredith was keeping some semblance of order... it's hard, admitting that the organisation you've worked your whole life to be a part of has rotted. The lyrium helped me not to think too much," he finished bitterly.

Hesitantly he met her eyes again, but there was no clue there. "It – it sounds like a bunch of excuses, doesn't it?"

"No, I see how it made sense at the time. I used to think the same way. I must have been fourteen, fifteen before I accepted that an individual templar could do wrong, let alone... because who was I to question them? Or any mage?" Her chest hitched, and she blinked hard. "We were the ones who were rotten, who were dangerous and corrupt and dirty..."

Cullen dithered for a heartbeat before going with his first instinct and putting his arms around her. When she pressed close, he tightened his grip, stroking her hair.

"I was eight years old and suddenly everybody was ashamed of me," she mumbled into his collar. " _Of course_ I'd done _something_ to deserve it."

Convincing mages they were best locked up – even if it meant destroying them. Even if it meant teaching a brave, selfless young woman to hate herself. A price for safety the Chantry had been extracting from mages for centuries. Would it have been worth it even if the Circles actually _were_ safe? Only one answer came to mind. "You're right to be angry."

She shivered and clung tighter. He wished he _could_ give her fifteen years back. He wished he could at least make a little girl understand she had nothing to be ashamed of. He wished he could stand between her and everything that would ever hurt her again.

He couldn't do any of those things. He wasn't sure he could do anything more than he already was.

Finally she rested her chin on his shoulder and asked, "Why haven't we been interrupted yet?"

"If the guards saw that look on your face when you walked in here, there's probably a gang outside drawing lots to see who has to come in and rescue me."

Her giggle was a brittle sound, but it was a start. She pulled away. "I should go."

"Not outside. Not yet. Go upstairs, wash your face, take some time. I won't bother you."

"I might want you to bother me."

"Then you know where to find me. Go on."

He eyed the bootprints in the Western Approach as she climbed the ladder. _Typical. The first time she's in my bedroom, and I'm down here._ Once she was safely disappeared, he opened the door to find there were indeed a few soldiers hanging around; the reason nobody had dared the threshold was likely Cassandra, leaning on the battlements a little way away, gazing out at the view yet somehow clearly first in line for his attention.

He waved the others inside, then went to rest his elbows on the wall beside the Seeker. There were clouds gathering around the mountain tops, the sunlight turning their undersides pink.

"How is she?"

He shrugged. "Human."


	3. We didn't start the fire

Cassandra leaned on the railing, watching the hive of activity in the armoury beneath. It was no doubt obvious to any third-rate spy for a hundred leagues that the Inquisition army was planning on going somewhere in force; hopefully Leliana was sending out enough misinformation about the where of it, although their enemies would surely realise that Adamant was a good guess.

She was looking forward to getting out again. In the midst of all this hubbub, there was actually quite little for her to do except get in the way of Cullen's intricate network of delegation.

And chew over old questions...

"Inquisitor?"

Themis, sat around the corner of the railing with her legs dangling through it, sighed. "And we were having such a lovely chat."

Neither one of them having said a word in some time, Cassandra hesitated in confusion.

"All right, don't keep me in suspense. What made you put on your serious voice?"

"What happened to the Ostwick delegation?"

Her wry expression vanished. She was silent, gazing without interest at the activity below. Just as Cassandra was wondering whether any answer would be forthcoming, she said, "Of course you've some reason to believe they didn't make it to the Conclave and die with everybody else "

"I hear they didn't even make it to the ship."

"Ah, of course. I'm tempted to ask just how much Leliana's figured out, but that would look like I was trying to fit my story to it, wouldn't it?"

"I trust you."

"Oh, go on then."

"There's not much. Leliana decided some time ago that there was nothing sinister about your refusal to discuss it, and so her people had better things to do. The delegation - you - left the Circle but didn't rendezvous with the ship that had been hired to get you across the Waking Sea. There was an incident at your family home which some rumours say involved you, though they deny it..."

Themis snickered humourlessly.

"And certain items identified as having belonged to your companions turned up for sale in the area. The Ostwick Circle just say there was a 'mishap' – with, as Leliana puts it, a generous side helping of 'Mind your own business.'"

"That doesn't surprise me." She sighed. "I suppose I can tell you... most of it now. There are still some... details... I'd rather not go into."

Cassandra nodded. Whatever had happened, it surely hadn't been pretty; and especially so to someone fresh out of the Circle. It was easy to forget, from time to time, how young the Inquisitor was.

* * *

It had been drizzling steadily since they left, the road was starting to go to mud in the spots where the stonework was damaged and, even if the budget had run to horses, few mages could ride. Yet it felt as if nothing could dampen Themis' spirits. Not since she was eight years old had she been more than a few hundred yards from the Circle's walls. Now she was going all the way to Ferelden. The Conclave would see reason, restore the Circles and set the world to rights. And the Ostwick delegation would be part of it.

"Well, you're looking disgustingly cheerful," observed Senior Enchanter Evnis Stanwick.

"Pleasure of your charming company," she smiled.

"You do talk a load of rubbish, woman."

He was right, of course; everybody considered him a grouch, himself included. He was there not for the Conclave itself but for the long journey that lay between Ostwick and Haven. His mastery of the Primal school was in as little doubt as his lack of social graces.

Themis had to admit, later, that on that basis their assailants had used some sound tactical thinking. From the corner of her eye she saw Ser Rielle, behind them, unsheathe her sword, and before she had time to wonder why, the blade was blood-smeared, protruding from Evnis' chest. Rielle shoved him to the ground, planted her boot in his back and yanked her weapon free; she was turning her attention to Themis when another templar crashed into her.

She knelt beside Evnis, feeling the hard wet stones beneath her knees, fixated on the look of incomprehension on his face as he rolled over and died. She reached for him, irrationally convinced that somehow this was a mistake, that nobody could be gone just like that, the sounds of battle around her barely registering until another man – the templar who'd stopped Rielle – fell next to her, clawing at his helmet as he choked on his own blood. Belatedly realising that there was a massacre going on around her, she tried to scramble up, feet catching on the hem of her robe. She had just unhooked her staff when a blow knocked her from her feet again. As she scrabbled to retrieve her weapon, fear was finally beginning to penetrate; but she had barely begun to get herself together when there was a sudden... cracking feeling inside her, and her connection, the power that had been her constant companion, her curse for over half her life, was... not there. Some detached part of her mind observed that she'd never before had a templar's dampening power used on her before; and it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"Alive, damn it!" The voice was familiar, and twisting her head around as her hands were pinned behind her, Themis saw Ser Ricklen. Then somebody pulled her hood down over her face and she saw nothing more.

* * *

"Do you know much about the Ostwick Circle?"

"No," said Cassandra. "But I think I'm beginning to see why they wouldn't talk to us."

Themis wrinkled her nose. "Quite. Only a couple of the actual delegation turned on us, but it was enough to give Ricklen's lot the opening they needed. I imagine the ultimate plan for me was ransom, but... you know, when I'd caught Ricklen looking at me I'd always assumed it was my own corruption making me see things that weren't there. Or wishful thinking – he was a handsome one. It sounds rather silly, looking back, but that was the way I'd been taught to see it. Mages corruptible, templars not. It didn't even change when the war started and Knight-Commander Sonnilon cut him and a little gang of his friends loose because he was pushing too hard for a break with the Chantry.

"So. Anyway. They dragged me off into the wilderness, which was... unpleasant. And exhausting. Finally they'd got far enough that they felt safe to stop and rest. And that was where a rather ironic bit of luck came into play.

"It wasn't just ransom Ricklen wanted; and for the... other thing he wanted, he felt the need for some privacy. So he took me off by himself, and... I don't remember that part very well."

Cassandra's fingernails were digging into the back of her other hand, but she kept her voice as level as she could. "That's not unusual. The mind finds ways of dealing with things."

"It's stupid, really, it's not as if he even got that far-"

"Stop that."

With a startled look, she stopped.

"It must have been terrifying," Cassandra continued. "It is not stupid to find the memory upsetting just because it could have been worse."

Themis wrapped her arms around the upright she was sitting beside, and lowered her gaze.

The Seeker had the feeling she wasn't quite convinced. "If a friend told you this story, would you call her stupid?"

"...No."

"I should think not. Anyway, what happened to prevent him getting very far?"

"Well... the first I knew was when Farron pulled the hood off and I realised the stuff I'd just been spattered with was the blood from Ricklen's cut throat."

"Farron?"

"The absolute last mage I'd expect to swoop in and save my life. He was the distraction, mind you, it was Ardri who did the actual throat-slitting..."

* * *

"... gone hours out of our – way and risked our – lives to rescue – Lady The-Chantry-Can-Do-No-Wrong and it's – enough. Cut her loose and let's go." Farron was wheezing from exertion.

"Cut her loose? Kinder to cut her throat." Ardri, the smallest of the three of them, seemed to barely be breathing heavily. Elves could be astonishing creatures.

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm not. She's hurt, she's exhausted, she's got no supplies and all the wilderness survival skills of a turnip. We abandon her out here, she'll be lucky to run into someone else who'll rape her and sell her, instead of something that'll just eat her."

"If we go anywhere near civilisation, she'll turn us in."

"You were the one who insisted on going after her, Farron."

"I don't remember you putting up much of a fight."

So they were onto recriminations already. Themis, lying where she'd collapsed with a root digging into her stomach, was vaguely aware this conversation ought to be worrying, but it was difficult to focus. Her entire body ached from the hours of unaccustomed exercise and the various blows it had taken - the back of her head was particularly bad - her shoulders and wrists were screaming and she could barely feel her bound hands.

And then there was the thirst. She'd had a day's hard marching and nothing to drink since breakfast. She hadn't known it was possible for a mouth to feel so dry. Her throat was a torment.

For most of the day the tantalising on-and-off rain had only added to her misery; but now that Farron and Ardri had finally stopped, it meant that she could at least do something about one of her myriad problems.

It was an act of will to move. Trying to get up was already awkward with her hands stuck behind her. Every muscle she used screamed, and in order to make it to her knees she had to concentrate on how badly she needed to get her voice working before the other two came to some conclusion.

* * *

"I think it was a measure of the kind of day I was having that it didn't occur to me in the slightest how undignified and possibly unhealthy it was to be lapping up water from a puddle."

"We do what we must."

* * *

"If I may make a suggestion."

The two looked at her in surprise.

Themis tossed her head, trying to get her hair out of the way, but it was plastered to her face and wouldn't budge. "There is a way you can get rid of me with a clear conscience and still be far away before I can tell anyone about you. Anyone who matters, anyhow." She had decided that trying to convince them she simply wouldn't talk would be a dead end.

Ardri folded her arms. "I'm listening."

She couldn't think of blood and screams and chaos. Couldn't think of claustrophobic darkness, of rough groping hands and powerlessness. Breaking down in hysterics simply wasn't a good move right now. "My family. They'll be on the estate, outside the city. Get me within sight and you can be a long way gone before I make it there. Wherever you think you're going."

"To the Conclave," said Farron, absently running a finger over the scar on his cheekbone that his elaborate tattoo did not fully conceal. "They shouldn't just hear from templar-lickers like you."

"You snuck out while we were all leaving?"

"Yes. Lucky for you, we stayed close enough to the road to see what happened."

"Thank you. Have we an agreement?"

He looked at Ardri. "I don't know. We'd still be safer leaving her."

She shrugged. "You're the one who's always carrying on about how mages should stick together. Doesn't mean much if you only follow through for mages you agree with. Besides, I like the idea of a Trevelyan owing me a favour."

"There are mages I disagree with, and then there are self-righteous cattle I actively despise and think the world would be a better place without."

Themis bit her tongue.

"I don't like her, either," said Ardri, "but I have to tell you you're not in a position to get at anyone else about self-righteousness."

"That – that's not the point."

"No, the point is, are we going to abandon her when getting her to safety would be easy and barely out of our way? I say no."

"Fine. All right. Just till we can see the family _estate._ Then we're done."

"Fine. We'll take a quick rest here and then I reckon we can make it before nightfall."

"Fine."

"Thank you," said Themis. "And I hate to push my luck, but would you untie my hands please?"

"No, not yet," responded Ardri. "I don't want you grabbing one of our staves."

"What?"

"Did I start speaking Qunari? You'd be dangerous."

"There... are two of you." Themis thought with a pang of her own staff, doubtless gone beyond recall.

"Maybe when we're ready to move on."

She sighed and looked down. There was more flesh on display than she was comfortable with, though at least her underclothes were mercifully intact. "Then would you please pull my robe up over my shoulders?"

Ardri came over and tugged her torn robe into place. She was frowning, distracted.

"Something else?" asked Themis.

"It's not your fault. You better know that."

Farron snorted. "You're onto a loser there. It is the centre of Milady's philosophy that mages deserve whatever they get. Hung, Tranquilised, faces marked up by dog-lord jackasses..."

"Shut up, Farron. This is girl talk now."

Unwise enough to open his mouth again, Farron withered beneath Ardri's glare and sat down sulkily with his back against a pine trunk.

The elf turned back to Themis. "As I was saying before _somebody_ interrupted, men love to fling around phrases like 'leading me on'. If there's anything in your head telling you that Ricklen did what he did because of anything _you_ did, it's wrong. Assuming you never took him aside and said, 'It would really turn me on if you massacred my friends, kidnapped me and tore my clothes off,' - I can assume that, right? The only one to blame here is him."

* * *

"Was she right? Did you feel that way?"

"Well... yes, but for the wrong reasons. Farron was closer, oddly enough. I'd swallowed the whole templars-good, mages-bad thing so completely, I was deep-down convinced I'd corrupted him somehow. I didn't spell it out to myself, not at the time..."

"You do realise now that's nonsense?"

"Yes. It's good he's dead." She frowned. "That's hate, I think. Funny thing. We talk about feelings as if they're separate items, but they're all messy and complicated and run-together. How could I hate anyone when I was crushing my anger?"

Cassandra watched a little group of recent volunteers trying to find armour that fit. They were making a mess of putting it on, but she resisted the temptation to meddle; and sure enough, their corporal appeared and started setting them to rights.

"What's on your mind, Cassandra?"

"I've seen you fight. It's hard to imagine you freezing up and then tripping over yourself. I suppose we all have to start somewhere."

"Yes, it _was_ my first real fight. By the time I'd made it across Ferelden with just the three of us, I was a bit more seasoned. Which... bothers me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, supposing I really was chosen by the Maker. _When_ did he choose me? Is it possible a group of good people - friends, some of them - died so that I could become the competent battle mage the Inquisition would need?"

Cassandra pointed at the little group below. "I expect they're good people who have friends. You know not all of our troops will make it back from Adamant."

"It's not the same thing. The Maker can-"

"Because you can't control who will die? Irrelevant. You've accepted that some lives must be sacrificed for the cause."

She scowled and swung her feet back and forth, an oddly childish gesture. "But the Maker has options we don't. Such as putting an end to punishing the whole world for the sins of some arrogant Tevinters over a thousand years ago."

"Nobody has all the answers. There comes a time when you have to let go and trust in His plan."

"I'm not as good as I used to be about trusting authority – another result, oddly enough, of His plan, if we're sticking with that thesis. Besides, there is one other important difference between Him and me. At Adamant, you and Cullen and I will be right there risking our lives with the troops." Themis got to her feet. "Please don't tell Cullen about... what almost happened. Or anyone who might tell him. The way gossip spreads around here, I guess that means don't tell anyone."

"Why? He wouldn't blame you."

"It's not that, it's just..." She chewed her lip. "I just don't ever want him to have that in his head when we're together."

"As you wish. I will have to fill Leliana in, mind you, and she'll know if I'm holding back."

"I think I can rely on Leliana's discretion. You know, if her agents had kept up their investigation I'm sure they would have noticed that my sister somehow managed to attend her sister-in-law's confinement in Tantervale whilst simultaneously sailing to Amaranthine on the good ship _Tenebrous_."

Cassandra smiled. "How did that come about?"

"Long story. I've got a feeling that if I stay longer, we'll end up doing each other's hair or something ridiculous. I need to get a drink and go back to being Inquisitorial for a bit."

It was on the tip of Cassandra's tongue to call after Themis as she headed for the stairs, but she suppressed the urge. She had a sense that the Inquisitor was done opening up for the day; she should take what she had to Leliana, and be glad they finally had that much.


	4. Fireguard

Cullen was keeping himself busy with troop dispositions, supplies distribution, demon clearouts... It was odd to be liaising with Hawke, all this time after the battle at the Gallows, about moving out the surviving Grey Wardens. But it was more than tolerable. In fact, if he was honest with himself, even reviewing the casualty lists was better than dwelling on that period the night before, the one his mind treacherously slunk back to whenever he stopped. The mercifully short period when he'd actually had to wonder which story was worse – that the Inquisitor was buried beneath tons of rubble, or that she'd escaped into the Fade. Either way, her chances of survival had seemed minimal; but with battle raging, it had been relatively easy to mutter a quick prayer and turn his mind to more immediate concerns, ones he could actually do something about. Funny that he should feel so much worse about it now that he knew she had made it out, mostly unscathed. While he was working, he didn't have to think about it... or listen to the little voice in the back of his head insisting that lyrium would make him feel so much better.

The last time the voice had been so loud, it had been the day Cassandra had told him that Themis had finally opened up about the fate of the Ostwick delegation. He'd needed to go off alone and pray for a while to get himself under control. He'd felt rather bad that he couldn't bring himself to get emotional about the other dead – good people, no doubt, but he'd never met them, or would recognise any of their names aside from the First Enchanter's. But the thought of _her_ – imprisoned, frightened, _used_ to make somebody a little money. That was the one he found hard to bear; only there was worse. He wasn't naïve. He knew what they _might_ have done, if they'd kept her for any length of time, and _that_ thought made him want to break things. Want to stab someone.

Want to drink lyrium, just to get it to stop.

But that would have dulled the good feelings too. It was all mixed together. And Themis wouldn't have liked it. So as soon as he made it back to some kind of equilibrium, he'd gone to her instead, told her... _part_ of what was bothering him. It had made him feel better, and she said she liked that he could talk to her. He was fairly sure that was how these things were supposed to work.

He wondered who the two runaways were, who had helped her. One way or another, they were surely dead now. Was it their remains she'd found in the mountains that day? That would explain a lot.

He eyed the scorched and shattered siege engine. It wasn't worth the effort of repairing, just to drag it back across the Approach. "Break it up. Salvage the metal parts as far as possible and get the wood over to the pyres."

"Yes, Commander." Corporal Dun was sporting a beautiful black eye and her nose was freshly broken, but by soldiering standards she didn't even qualify as walking wounded.

Cullen turned to the youngster hovering at her elbow. "Go and tell the quartermaster we need a few axes here. And a cart, if there's one to spare."

"Yes, ser!" He disappeared with alacrity into the masses encamped around Adamant, working, eating, recovering, resting in whatever shade they could find. There was still a fair bit to be had, but as the sun climbed towards noon...

"Make sure you don't push yourselves too hard," he said. "I'd rather have a little waste than more people down with heatstroke."

"Understood, ser."

He'd do well to practise what he preached, he reflected as he moved along. It hadn't taken him long to realise that, in the pitiless sun of the Approach, metal armour _and_ a big furry mane were tempting fate. Accordingly, he'd surrendered - no, performed a strategic withdrawal - and taken to wearing a lighter tabard once the day's heat was on. It was time he changed.

On the way back to his quarters, he resisted the temptation to take a route that circled away from the hospital tent. Its occupants had been harmed on his watch and he wasn't going to spare himself the sight and sound – even if passing by didn't do them any actual good, they deserved him not to avoid them either. Sometimes he would even wonder whether he had any business judging blood mages, when he was up to his armpits in the blood of the young men and women who came and laid themselves on his battlefield altars; all to give the Inquisition the power to fend off horrors for another year... another five years, ten... maybe.

Then he would kick himself and get back to work.

A familiar voice reached his ears. A luckless Grey Warden had offended Hawke somehow and was receiving one of her sarcastic tongue-lashings. Cullen could sympathise. Now there was a mage who damned well knew it when she was angry - and everybody else did, too.

It had been something to see, them clearing the battlements; Hawke's firestorms playing havoc among the enemy rank and file, Themis' more focussed blasts taking out the ones who survived, Dorian backing them up where the women's love of fire proved insufficiently destructive. Three mages on the front line against the darkness, and only one had had a Chantry-approved upbringing.

Food for thought, if one was inclined to think. Would Hawke, shut in a Circle as a child, have adapted; or would she have destroyed herself and all around her, thrashing against the confinement? Certainly she would never have become the force of nature she was, and he found himself regretting the thought of something beautiful and terrible being thus lost to the world.

It was good that no Circle had ever taken her in as an adult. She'd have been escaped, dead or Tranquil before the year was out; that, or not one stone of the place left on top of another.

So what about Themis, he wondered as he crossed into the area where the leaders' tents were pitched. What might she have become, if she hadn't learned repression and self-loathing as a child? Hawke's temper was the stuff of legends, but controlled, channelled, her outbursts precisely calibrated and targeted. All a rage demon could expect from her was a witty retort and a smack on the nose. Themis... was still figuring out what to do with her anger. Not the petty day-to-day annoyances, but the savage fury that had been building inside her for so many years. After it first appeared, she'd hidden it away again – from everybody else, at least, but she could no longer hide it from herself. One day just before they'd left Skyhold, the two of them had been together when what he'd thought was a comfortable silence had been broken by her harsh, furious sobs. Then he'd infuriated her further by assuming he'd done something wrong. Truthfully, he still didn't understand what the problem had been. She hadn't made much sense when she'd tried to explain it, and had quickly given up, burying her face in his chest.

So far as he knew, she hadn't exploded in front of anybody else; but it was worrying.

Speaking of worrying – who was that, ducking into the Inquisitor and Cassandra's tent? A woman in a plain blue dress and headscarf, not either of the occupants. There were guards in this area of the camp, but the security was largely illusory. It was difficult to properly guard a bunch of tents. He knew everyone who could walk into that tent uninvited, and that hadn't been any of them.

Hand barely touching his sword-hilt, he strode up to the tent, pulled aside the flap and was greeted with a startled yelp. "Born in a barn, were we?"

Themis was wearing her silk shirt and trousers, standing over her trunk with the scarf and dress in hand. Cullen noticed a chain around her neck, a silver coin set into a delicate obsidian frame.

"Yes, actually. I was early, caught Mother by surprise... Why were you dressed like that?"

She shrugged and dropped the clothes into the chest. "A trick the Iron Bull taught me. If I dress plain, cover my hair and keep my mouth shut so that the Ostwick accent doesn't show, not many people know my face well enough to realise who I am. Useful when I need to get outside, but don't feel up to being Inquisitorial."

"Wandering around in disguise? That's not safe."

"As opposed to the things I normally get up to?" She turned away to pick up her nugskin jerkin from the bed.

"Fair point. Speaking of which... you had an eventful night. More than most of us. How are you?"

Cullen couldn't see her face, but the shudder was obvious. When he slid his arms around her waist she turned and somehow managed to snuggle despite his breastplate, the jerkin falling forgotten to the ground. He embraced her as best he could, arms feeling clumsy in their metal protection.

"It was... bad," she said. "But, you know, it could have been worse. I don't know whether it was spreading itself too thin, or if it just didn't have much imagination, but it was so... superficial. It didn't seem like it was getting to our deep, dark fears, just the ones anybody could have guessed at – though I'm a bit puzzled about what it said to Blackwall."

"What?"

"That he was nothing like a Grey Warden. I don't know why he'd feel that way... unless it's that he didn't pick up on the Calling for some reason. Needling Dorian about his father, Hawke about failing her family... and it barely bothered with me. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"I can't stop thinking about what might have happened. If we hadn't got out so quickly. And bad enough my control over my anger is so... questionable. If I'd gone in there with it still buried and festering, controlling me without me even realising it..."

"Controlling you?"

She stepped away and retrieved the jerkin. "Yes. I've been giving it a lot of thought lately, and some of the things I've done make so much more sense now. Cutting off my hair, for starters."

"Cutting off...?"

"Oh, yes." Turning her back, she touched her spine just above the waist. "When I left the Ostwick Circle, it was down to here. Then there was me carrying on to the Conclave even though it made me sort of a fugitive."

" _Sort of_ a fugitive? This I have to hear."

Themis chuckled, pulling on her Inquisitor garb. "It's like this. First of all, the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter did their best to keep things as close to normal as possible. I won't fault them for it, I think it helped. All the usual rules stayed in place, and we mostly maintained the polite fiction that they meant very much when if any mage made it out of the Ostwick area, the chances of them being brought back were essentially none.

"So anyway, Knight-Commander Sonnilon was against there being an Ostwick delegation at all – thought it was too dangerous. Fancy that. It was First Enchanter Vipascit who pushed for it, and she died in the ambush. When I found myself the last surviving member of the delegation, running around with two mages who definitely did not have leave to be out... it got complicated. I knew that, his worries having been proven correct, the Knight-Commander would revoke my permission to go. So my only way to make it to the Conclave was to get away from Ostwick without him getting the chance. When one of the local templars... exceeded his authority, I had to run and hide."

"So you stayed within the letter of the law but not the spirit. I see what you mean – that doesn't seem like you."

"I'll take that as a compliment. It would have been so much safer and less unpleasant to turn around and go home like everybody wanted me to - including my new travelling companions, I might add. If you'd asked me at the time, I'd have had all kinds of good reasons - duty, responsibility, honouring the First Enchanter's wishes - but underneath it there was this... feeling. That I deserved better. That a lot of people deserved better. That the Circles were being run by a bunch of self-righteous religious zealots and were much better at shutting us away out of sight than at protecting anybody. That templars were corruptible too, and what gave them the right to lord it over us. Oh, I could go on and on, but the point is this.

"I think that feeling had been there a very long time. I'd ignored it because thinking such thoughts would mean I was bad and corrupt - and never mind that plenty of arrow-straight mages said those things openly, logic doesn't come into this."

Cullen murmured, "Fear and reason. Not a great team."

"Exactly. And then, I venture outside the walls and between Ser Glad-He's-Dead Ricklen and my charming family, before the day's out I get my nose rubbed twice in the idea that the problem is not me, or my magic. The problem is the selfish bastards and the fine upstanding citizens who think they get to treat me like dirt. Because I'm a mage." Pulling her gloves on, she flexed her fingers as if wishing there was somebody's neck between them. "And suddenly that feeling isn't so buried any more, and there's this scream that's looking for a voice, and I'm striking out through all sorts of danger because deep down I want to scream it where someone might actually listen, where it might actually change something... and here we are."

"Here we are."

Finished dressing, she tugged herself into order and slipped back into his arms. "But listen to me prattling on about things past. You had quite the night yourself. How are you?"

He took a breath to consider. "Well. We captured a defended castle, which the Inquisition has never done before, no disrespect to your clearing those bandits out of Caer Bronach. _I've_ never done it before. Casualties are at the lower end of our estimates. The clear-up is going smoothly. I'm feeling quite proud of everybody."

"Yourself included?"

"Maybe just a little."

"I should think so, too."

"Thank you. Themis, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"We haven't had a chance to talk about... before we left, when you got upset. Can you tell me now what was going on?"

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I just... let my mind wander. It seems it's not ready to be let out on its own just yet. I started thinking about us, about where we were going, and it dawned on me that I'd been assuming, sooner or later, you'd come to your senses."

"What does that mean?"

"That you'd leave me. That you'd finally realise a relationship between us was insane."

" _What?_ " He took hold of her shoulders and stepped back so that he could see her face, this woman – this mage – he'd unexpectedly, impossibly come to love. He could see how it might look a bit crazy from the outside, but surely... "You can't actually..."

Her face twisted with frustration. Her eyes were dry but resolutely directed past his right ear. "No. I don't think that. Not... in any way that matters. There's just this voice inside me, and sometimes I don't realise I'm listening to it."

"It tells you mages are bad?"

"Yes, among other things," she answered with obvious relief. "It tells me the idea of loving me is supposed to disgust you, and there will come a time when you'll get past my corrupt magical charms and remember that. And then I catch myself, and I remember that these thoughts were _put there_ , and I'm sure the people who did it honestly believed those things, but..."

"But it was about controlling you, too."

"Yes."

"Not that either one's any better, really."

He pulled her close again and held tight, the first time he'd had a chance to since the battle, his own anger and shame churning in his chest and tying his tongue.

Her arms slipped around his neck and she buried her face in the fur he was still wearing. Sometimes there was no need to say anything.

It was an effort of will not to crush her, to lock his arms around this beautiful, fierce, impossible woman and refuse to let go. In the scant few hours of sleep he'd snatched after the battle, he'd dreamed of Halamshiral, of those perfect few minutes they'd had to themselves on the balcony. Only this time she'd dissolved like smoke in his embrace, and the demons had laughed at him for imagining it possible that a woman like her would ever let him hold her.

And she, who had been pre-emptively locked away and never had the chance to commit any of the wrongs on his conscience, thought deep down that _she_ should disgust _him_.

She pulled free and asked, "How do I look?"

"Achingly beautiful."

"Really? And where is this ache, exactly?"

Summoning up his dignity, he ignored the innuendo and put his hand on his chest. "Right here."

"Well, I'll just have to see what I can do about that. But for now, duty calls."

"It always does. One last thing." He took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.


	5. The Fire in the Blood

It had been more than ten years since she'd stood here. Strange to be back. Much like any mage, her life was split sharply into before and after; and the dividing line ran through this room. The empty spot on the pedestal was now filled with a statuette of Andraste. Of course. Aside from that, not much had changed that she could see. She could put a name to every one of the portraits that occupied most of the wall space. The big one over the fireplace had no doubt been through three or four updates since she had gone to the Circle. Grandmother, parents, siblings, siblings' spouses and offspring – no Themis. Of course.

Her parents – not surprisingly – looked older than she remembered. Her father still stood tall and straight, and her mother's hair was still the deep red all her daughters had inherited. But they were not so imposing as they once had seemed. Bedraggled, muddy, and clutching her robe together at her chest, she thought she cut an even less prepossessing figure herself.

"Disgusting," said Bann Trevelyan. "I blame myself. I should never have allowed that band to get so big – I'll send troops out first thing tomorrow."

Themis decided not to mention her suspicion that he'd have moved faster had it been a band of renegade mages. She tried not to think too hard about why her cousin Oswald had decided to attend this meeting in his templar regalia even though he just happened to be on a family visit. "They lost several today – and their leader. Hopefully mopping them up won't be too much trouble."

"Well, you'll need an escort back to the Circle in any case."

Deep breath. She'd been expecting this, but it would have been nice to be disappointed. "That will cost me two days, minimum, and I have a schedule to keep." Another thing she wasn't going to mention – if she returned now, there would be no replacement delegation. "If you -"

"Nonsense, girl. You're in this state one day out – you can't think you'll make it all the way across Ferelden."

"I'll do it or die trying – the Conclave's worth the risk. You can talk to the Chantry in town and get me a few templars to replace -"

"Enough -"

There was a confused babble from outside. Themis had a moment of disbelief when she heard the one voice that was cursing especially loudly; but when the Orlesian window to the garden burst open, sure enough it was Farron being dragged in by a little gang of family henchmen.

"Caught him at the window, my lord," said one.

Kalina Trevelyan, seated on the chaise-longue by the fire, fixed her daughter with an icy stare. "Who is this?"

"He's with me." Why had she said that? Was it that her mother had assumed some wrongdoing on her part, just because the trespasser had a mage staff strapped to his back? She frowned at Farron, hoping she was the only one who noticed him hiding his surprise. "He was supposed to wait by the gate until I sent for him. I'm sorry."

Her father sighed. "Well, he can stay here for tonight and go back with you in the morning." The henchmen let go of Farron, who brushed himself off disdainfully.

Themis straightened her back. "I'm sorry, no. I'll accept a bed for tonight with thanks, but tomorrow I'll be going into the city. With or without your help."

"I don't think so," the bann frowned.

Her cousin had started edging forwards; it was an effort of will to hold her ground. "I'm afraid what you think doesn't matter. I have the First Enchanter's permission to attend the Conclave. Nobody in this room holds the authority to return me to the Circle tower against my wishes."

"Have you got that in writing?" asked Cousin Oswald.

"In _writing?_ " Farron blurted. "This is your family!"

"Quiet, Farron. I have no obligation to prove anything to a knight-recruit, and in any case I wrote to you when I was first chosen for the delegation over a week ago. Don't you remember?" No sooner were the words out of her mouth than another question occurred – had they read it? When was the last time one of their letters had made reference to anything in hers? All those missives over the years, telling them how well she was doing in her studies, how much praise she won from her instructors, how well her Harrowing had gone; all her efforts to convince them that a mage daughter didn't need to be a shameful thing – how many of them had her parents even bothered to look at?

"We'll see what the Knight-Commander has to say." Oswald closed the remaining gap between them in a few swift strides and gripped her forearm.

She looked down at the gauntleted hand, than back up at the closed faces all around her – except for Farron, who seethed openly. What was she feeling?

"I am an exemplary mage," she said slowly. "I have never done anything to earn your mistrust." And it was true.

Her father opened his mouth, and she had no interest in what he had to say. Something buried deep inside her stirred, something patient and powerful and _huge._

Smells of hot metal, burning leather and cooking meat; Oswald stumbled back, gasping and clawing at his suddenly cherry-red gauntlet. The fire roared up, her parents retreating from the heat, the Nevarran hearthrug starting to catch and the family portrait to blister.

"Get a move on, idiot!" Farron, staff in hand, grabbed her elbow and hauled her through the garden door and out into the night, blasting aside the one man with the presence of mind to make an attempt to stop him.

By the time they were half-way through the rose garden Themis' mind had caught up with events, and she started to keep pace.

Then Ardri was running down the lawn beside them. "What in flames happened in there?"

"Milady's parents are bigger pillocks than she is, that's what happened."

"So you set the house on fire?"

" _She_ set the house on fire. Get us to that place you said we could spend the night, I'll fill you in."

"You mean she's coming with us?"

"Yes, she is."

"Well, hasn't this been an interesting day."

Reaching the opposite side of the lawn, they plunged into the slightly better cover of the orchard.

"Excuse me," panted Themis. "What were you two doing here?"

"Well, _I_ was burgling the place, and Farron was _supposed_ to be my lookout."

"Farron? You can let go of my arm now."

Themis concentrated on keeping up until they reached the estate wall, where they paused to catch their breath.

"So," she said, "you needed money, and you used me as a distraction to sneak in and rob my family."

"That's about the size of it," said Farron.

"You realise I'm honour bound to be upset with you about this."

"Planning on doing anything about it?"

"No."

"Fine, then. Come on, I'll get you over this wall."

* * *

"Great," said Ardri. "You know what you two have done? You've doubled the price of getting a ship, if we manage it at all."

"It's not that bad..."

"Don't you give me that, Farron. They now know that there are mages running around loose, and where we're trying to go. Cousin Oswald will have half the city templars on the docks, the other half searching the city. On top of that, I had to cut my thieving short because you got your stupid self caught. I'll have to get creative - and don't think you're tagging along, princess. Or keeping that rightfully-stolen mirror."

Themis was dolefully contemplating her bedraggled hair. She'd got up early in order to make it extra nice for the journey, and by now she should have been at sea with the rest of the delegation, not crammed into some dirty flophouse room with two people who despised her, and worrying about her hair because if she didn't, she might start thinking about all the dead people she'd known more than half her life.

Not to mention that she was a fugitive - sort of. The knight-commander was a fair man, and even though he'd opposed the journey in the first place, if she got a chance to explain he would recognise that Themis had acted within her authority and Oswald had exceeded his. Only there was the matter of her lashing out in retaliation and setting the local bann's house on fire. And being seen in the company of a mage who definitely had not been out of the Circle tower with permission. And the burglary... on the whole, it would be much safer all around if she did her explaining by letter from a good long way away. Hopefully things would calm down before she got back.

"That's all right," she said, still eyeing her reflection in the silver hand mirror. "Your way sounds far more risky than mine, anyway."

It felt quite naughty, how much she enjoyed the pause that followed.

Finally Farron said, "And would your way involve strolling down to the docks and up to the captain of the _Bright Lancer_ , and trying to convince him that you're the last survivor of the group he was expecting yesterday?"

Themis raised her eyes from the mirror and pulled out a rarely-used tool, the How-Dare-You-Question-Me-Peon stare which was something of a trait with Trevelyan women. "I know I'm a little new at hiding from templars, but can we please proceed from the assumption that I am not entirely stupid?"

Farron blanched satisfactorily, but Ardri retorted, "Your performance back at the manse notwithstanding? Let's hear it, then."

"Ah, the manse. Funny how much you can tell from family portraits - and who isn't among them. I was missing, naturally, and so was my dear scandalous Great-Aunt Betrice.

"She had a servant once, you see, or so the story was whispered when they thought none of the children were listening. Very close, very trusted, they'd practically grown up together. and I don't think anybody honestly believes Betrice didn't know this woman was a mage - although everyone pretends they do."

"Wait, I know this one," said Farron. "She got found out, taken to the Circle and put through her Harrowing before she was ready, as they so often are when they're caught late on."

"Maybe. I don't know many details – even her name – and it's not as if I could ask. Whatever happened, Great-Aunt Betrice is now officially the family black sheep, and will be happy to take the chance to spit in the templars' eyes. Furthermore, her late husband was a merchant – and her home has a private dock. I know it's not foolproof, but... even if she won't actually help, I don't think she'll turn us in."

Farron frowned. "Us? I'm not seeing any upside to you bringing two more along."

"You're joking, right?" Ardri huffed. "Noble ladies don't travel alone. She needs someone to play her servants – which I for one am happy with, seeing as it sounds like it'll be a much cheaper ride with a much smaller chance of ending up on a slow boat to Tevinter."

"Plus, I get to repay you a little for saving my life."

She could see the struggle on Farron's face, but it wasn't long before he sighed resignedly. "Fine. I'm the one always saying mages should stick together. I'll act your bloody manservant - as long as anyone's looking."

"You will act the bloody manservant all the time," corrected Ardri. "There's precious little privacy on a boat, and I won't have our cover blown because you just had to get some of your nasty little digs in when you thought nobody was listening."

He scowled, then turned back to Themis and said, "You better not push your luck, that's all."

"Andraste forbid." She set the mirror aside.

"Stop scratching."

She looked down and realised that, once free, her right hand had gravitated immediately to her singed forearm. The gauntlet's grip had been leather, but enough metal had been in contact to leave a constellation of holes in her sleeve and blisters beneath.

Farron took her wrist, pushed her sleeve up and soothed the discomfort with a touch. "Honestly. What kind of idiot lets a templar walk straight up to them?"

"I don't know, the kind that doesn't make a hobby of provoking templars? Besides, he was my cousin. I hope his hand's going to be all right."

"You hope..." He rolled his eyes. "After the way he treated you. You really are a sheep."

She pressed her lips together. "He was doing what he thought was right."

"Right?" he snarled, dropping her arm. "Do you know what the penalties were back home for aiding runaway mages? _My_ family could have been slaughtered for helping me get out, but they did it anyway. _Your_ family couldn't wait to get you shut away again, even though you weren't asking them to risk a flaming thing! What you said was true - you're everything the Chantry says a good mage should be, and they still wish you'd just disappear. If they really think treating you like that is _right_ , they're idiots. Me, I reckon they just find it convenient."

"Yeah, well, _my_ family sold me to a burglar long before anyone knew I was a mage. Our kind need to make family where we can - there's a reason they call 'em fraternities, you know."

"May I borrow a knife?" Themis took Ardri's proffered blade, propped up the mirror and started cutting her hair off.

* * *

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I was angry. I think I did a lot of things without realising they were because I was angry."

"Is that what a Circle education does for you in the south? Glad I missed it."

"We aren't actually forced to suppress our feelings that thoroughly. That was just the way I dealt with things – and I think in some ways it left me more vulnerable to corruption, not less. Can't properly control something I'm refusing to admit exists."

Dorian swirled his wine glass thoughtfully, his back against the balustrade on the Inquisitor's balcony. Of the many eccentricities he'd found in foreign climes, the idea that magic was something to be ashamed of was the one he had the hardest time getting used to. He turned his head to make play he was looking out over the mountains, whilst actually studying the Inquisitor out of the corner of his eye. She was lounging on the sofa they'd dragged out into the sun, in an attitude he found just a smidgen too relaxed to be convincing.

"What used to be in the spot on the pedestal?"

She snorted. "A vase. Had herons painted on it, if I recall correctly. One day I knocked into it while I was, well, being an eight-year-old and my grandmother was in full flow about how old and valuable and irreplaceable it was and what a bad girl I was for running around - and the bloody thing exploded into many, many little pieces."

Dorian snickered.

"Yes, yes, I can see the funny side _now_ , but at the time... Maker. Ashen faces all around, banished to my bedroom... then strange men in lots of armour come to take me away. At least they were polite, and didn't put me in chains - benefit of being a Trevelyan. One day I was looking forward to moving up to a bigger pony and wondering whether my friend Irena had got better from her cold, then in a single moment that life was just over, and I was having to start a new one in a new place with a load of strangers."

He thought ruefully of how his own powers' manifestation had been cause for rejoicing. "And would all this rather poisonous influence be to blame for you overdoing the self-control?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm still working through everything."

"You know, when you get right down to it your parents' crime was much the same as mine."

Themis sat up, tucked her feet under herself and contemplated the amount of wine left in the bottle. "How so?"

"Letting one thing they didn't like blind them to what a bloody wonderful offspring they had."

"I suppose." She frowned. "Of course, they might just have had a point if the one thing had been a habit of disembowelling small children, or something."

"Yes, but it wasn't."

"Not far off in my parents' eyes," she said with an unusual bitterness. "Tell you what, I'm lucky they didn't have any say in whether I got made Tranquil. I think they'd have preferred that to having an actual mage in the family."

Dorian almost objected, almost protested that only a true monster would want their child violated in such a way; but just before opening his mouth he remembered what his father had tried to do about his own _one thing_ , and shuddered. "Probably could have convinced themselves they were doing what was best for you."

"Oh, undoubtedly. There was a time I'd have agreed - in theory. The Tranquil seemed so peaceful, and there was I in turmoil because I'd always been taught that magic and mages were a stain on the Maker's creation, and always thought I couldn't possibly be one because I was a good girl..." She drained her wine. "About a glass left. Half each?"

He held his glass out. "You _wanted_ to be made Tranquil?"

"Oh no. In practice there would have been much kicking and screaming. The idea _terrified_ me. Still does." She topped up her own glass and set the empty bottle on the floor. "I imagine there's been gossip about the yelling-at-Cullen incident not so long ago?"

"The funniest version is that you singed his eyebrows off because you discovered he'd been sneaking around with me."

"Where do people get this stuff? Anyone can see his eyebrows are fine. And he'd run a mile if a man propositioned him - yes, even you."

"Hmm." Dorian smoothed his moustache. "A challenge."

"You try anything and I'll have you clapped in irons."

"Promise?"

"By _female_ templars."

"Bah. Spoilsport."

"Anyway, entertaining mental images aside, the reason I was shouting at Cullen was that Cassandra told me that the Lord Seekers had always known that Tranquility was reversible."

"And you... blamed Cullen...?"

"No, it's complicated. She and I were discussing Tranquility, and finding out that the people who were supposed to be watching the people who watched _us_ , finding they'd been _lying_ for so long about something so important... thinking about how holier-than-thou the templars always were, and how thoroughly they got corrupted... how hard I'd worked to keep myself and my magic under control, and how none of that seemed to matter when the templars finally turned on us... something inside me just – cracked. At first there was only the anger, and I went away from Cassandra because I thought we'd just get into a screaming match, but I had to yell at someone so I went to Cullen and he calmed me down because he wouldn't give me anything back. So I started explaining why I was angry, and... then there were other things." She chewed her lip. "I'm not sure I can explain it properly. I'd been taught that the Chantry and the templars locked up mages because it was necessary for their own good and everybody else's, and a mage having a problem with that was a sure sign they were corrupt."

"Ah. So you believed that feeling upset about your situation was wrong."

"Wow. I wasn't expecting you to get that so easily. No offense."

He sat down next to her. "I am not even going to tell you how old I was before I started to wonder whether I actually deserved the constant sniping about my posture, my grooming, my manners... please, move along."

"So I wasn't only suppressing anger, I was suppressing unhappiness, resentment... any feeling that suggested anything was wrong that wasn't me, meant there was something wrong with me, and that way lay blood magic and demons." Pause. "Did that even make any sense?"

He took a few moments to untangle the sentence. "Slightly more complicated than thinking one is just an ungrateful brat, but yes, I think I've the gist."

"Right. So I end up believing, down to my bones, that everything that is done to me is right and proper and deserved, and I go on believing that – on some level – even after everything falls apart. And when my defences finally start to break down, it's like the anger's the ogre that cracks the wall and there are all these other things trailing into the breach behind it. And one of the first... fair enough, my family had to send me to the Circle. I won't fault them for that. But they were... from the moment that vase exploded, I wasn't really family any more. I was so busy suppressing everything, somewhere along the way I'd forgotten how much it hurt. It really, really hurt."

Dorian stared down into the last of his wine. This conversation really was rather close to the bone. "Are you in contact with them?"

"In a way. Same as it has been ever since; distant, formal. The first couple of times I answered the letters myself, now I delegate." She sighed. "I don't know, maybe I'm being petty. Holding onto a grudge..."

"Don't be ridiculous, old girl."

"A strange remark coming from you."

"Beg pardon? _My_ father took time out from his busy schedule, travelled for weeks and then sat around in some backwater foreign inn, without even knowing whether I'd show up. Oh, and let's not forget the sincere apology when he finally got a word in edgewise. Have yours done any of that?"

"An apology? I don't think they even think they did anything wrong."

"Precisely, and I'll tell you something else. Even if they did all that and more, you still don't have to force yourself to forgive them if you don't feel ready. Forgiving happens on your schedule alone; and if some self-righteous harridan tries to tell you different, feel free to tell her in precise anatomical detail where she can stick it – or send her to me and _I'll_ tell her."

"You're working on a rapprochement with your father, but you're still mad at Mother Giselle."

" _She's_ never going to apologise for trying to deceive me."

"Another one who doesn't see what she did wrong. Oh, Maker. I'll have to watch her. She'd pull the exact same if mine asked her to."

He watched the lengthening shadows. It would be time to go inside soon. "So, I hear you're headed out again tomorrow?"

"Yes. Cole's not going to be happy until we've found a way to make that protective amulet work. And don't think I've given up on finding out why he thought you needed a wooden duck with wheels on, either."

"Humph. And _you're_ the one trying to teach him the concept of privacy."

"Also the concept of 'Do as I say, not as I do'," she smirked.

"He'll be a real boy in no time."

Still smiling, she leaned her head back, gazing at the darkening sky.

"Maybe you should teach him about anger, too," he mused. "Anger's very human."

"Right, that's all we need."

"Isn't it? Anger carried me across a continent and onto your doorstep just when you needed a dashing mage; and look where yours got you."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe Cole isn't the only one who's still learning how to be a person."

"I don't think anyone ever truly finishes doing that. Some more than others, I admit." He raised his glass. "To _all_ the feelings."

She eyed him askance for a moment, then shrugged, clinked and knocked back the last mouthful. "Even the scary ones."

"The ones you need the most."


	6. Fire from Air

**A couple of bookkeeping points before we continue:**

 **1\. The name of the mage whose death was recounted in Chapter 3 was always Evnis.**

 **2\. Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia.**

 **I trust that's all clear.**

* * *

It was just after they'd finished eating that Corporal Dun spoke to Varric. "Ser, the Inquisitor..."

"I know. Leave it to me. And don't call me ser."

He could see why the corporal was nervous. The Herald of Andraste disappearing into the night while she was in charge of the escort... she could hardly be blamed if anything happened, as the alternative would have been an attempt to physically force her boss to stay in camp, but still...

Sometimes even leaders needed a bit of wrangling, and this evening it was Varric's job.

He left the circle of firelight – the washing-up would be someone else's problem, at least – and went in the direction Themis had gone. There was a gentle downslope through the trees. He trod carefully, wary of roots in the little light available.

There – a figure sitting in the shadows. But no, not Themis. Not in that hat.

"Is it here? I think it's here. So tired. Mustn't sleep unless I'm sure. What if it's waiting?"

"Kid? Where -"

Cole pointed.

"Thanks, Kid."

He hadn't gone much further when he saw a new light, very pale and faint. The kind of light a mage might make for herself, if she was trying to be subtle about it. Watching from the dark, Varric saw her poking around one of the old statues that were ten a copper in these woods.

"Looking for something, Herald?"

She shrieked, dropping some object and then following up with a most unladylike word he was fairly sure he'd never heard her use before.

"Don't you know it's bad luck to sneak up on mages?"

"Oh, a day just doesn't seem worthwhile unless I've nearly got my head blown off at least once." He stepped forward to retrieve the fallen item. It was charred and broken, and quite obviously part of a skull. "Friend of yours?"

"Hardly."

"What, then?"

She bit her lip.

Varric settled himself on a convenient rock. "Come on, Herald, it's been a long day. Don't make me turn on the devastating charm."

Themis sighed and leaned against the statue. "It's probably not the first man I ever killed. We'd been travelling a long way to get to the Conclave, and we'd had to use force sometimes – but always to get the room to make a run for it. We were too busy escaping to count corpses. That skull you're holding is the first one I'm sure of. The first time I watched the life leave a body and knew that it was me."

"I'm sure he had it coming."

"He did. That's not the problem..."

* * *

Around her, the forest was burning. The trees were towering torches, the undergrowth a carpet of fire. She wasn't afraid. It felt familiar, safe. Almost like... home?

"So it should," said Senior Enchanter Evnis. His eyes were pits of flame. "It is ours to command. With it we will scour the world clean and raise a new one from the ashes."

"A world where mages have justice?" she asked, following him through the conflagration.

"No more templar boots on our throats. They will kneel and we will show no mercy." Evnis waved a hand at a statue in front of them; it was herself, staff upraised, expression triumphant. The stone figure at her feet, caught mid-writhe in loving detail, was Ser Ricklen.

"But why? Wait, you're... and he..." Themis whirled, fled, came gaspingly awake with the blanket clutched in her fists. Next to her, Ardri stirred but slept on.

All was quiet, the glow of the burned-down fire illuminating the scatter of sleeping bodies, the carts and livestock, the nodding sentry. Good. They'd been lucky that the gang of refugees, heading west from the chaos in the Hinterlands, had been willing to let three strangers travel a way with them. Too many nightmares might just tip someone to those strangers' true nature.

Disturbed, Themis extracted herself from the blankets and pulled on her coat. With no real cause, just needing to move, she headed into the trees, waiting until she was safely away from camp before conjuring a light. Justice for mages? What had she been on about? The Circle system was as just as could be managed, given the danger, even if the safeguards against abuses might need tightening up a bit. Back in Ostwick, she'd always assumed the stories to be lies and exaggerations, but having actually spent time with Farron it was becoming difficult to believe it was that simple.

Wait, where _was_ Farron? She didn't remember seeing him nearby when she'd woken. Worrying. There was clearly a rage demon haunting this place, and if it was smart enough to run a number on her...

Still was running it, she realised with a shock. She'd wandered in the same direction it had taken her in the Fade – the statue was ahead of her, in its small clearing, although of course in the mortal world it was not her, but some figure too weathered to make out.

At the sound of voices up ahead, she hastily doused her light.

"Please, I'm worn out, I -" Farron's voice, she was sure of it, and the note of misery and resignation twisted in her gut; he was interrupted by the sound of a blow.

"It'll be a good long rest hung from the nearest tree, mage. Finish up."

She lit up again and took a few paces forward. "What's going on here?"

The answer was right in front of her; the configuration of the two men's bodies, in Farron's expression as, on his knees, he met her eyes.

Rurisk, the de facto leader of the refugee brand, looked over his shoulder at her, with annoyance but without fear. Snarling, he opened his mouth. Themis had no interest in listening to him.

The patient monster inside her reached out, poured fire down his throat. By the time it occurred to him to scream, the parts he needed to do so were already cooking; she saw the terror in his eyes for a scant heartbeat before they started to melt.

 _Sweet Andraste, what am I doing?_ She pulled herself back, the realisation that she'd just tried to murder a man crashing in.

 _Yes yes yes burn burn them hurt them set the world on fire..._

 _Why are you still here? I'm not interested. Go_ away.

An unheard shriek, an echo of cheated fury, and she was alone again. Sated, the monster slept; deprived of its foothold, the demon fled.

Farron spat and got to his feet. "What in the Void... have you completely lost your mind?"

"Huh?" she responded distractedly.

"Did it not enter your stupid rich-girl head that there was a reason I didn't do that myself, days ago?"

"Well, I – wait, days ago? Has this been going on ever since we joined up?"

"I was dealing with it, all right? Never mind, you need to take care of him." He pointed at the smoking ruin of a human being, still breathing in short, shallow gulps.

"Me? You're the healer."

"He's beyond healing, you featherbrained bint. Finish him off."

Themis stared, nausea settling in her stomach. Within her, the plain facts of the situation warred with an irrational conviction that there had to be something they could do.

"What are you waiting for, Milady? Clean up your own mess for a change."

"All right," she said resignedly. "All right."

"Don't hold back, either. We need him cremated, not just dead."

She bent her will, pulling fire from the Fade and directing it to do its work from the inside out, so that there would be as few visible flames as possible. _I already killed him,_ she told herself. _This is mercy._ "Maker of the World, forgive us. We have lived too long in shadow without Your Light to guide us. Be with Your children now, O Maker."

The stench and fug were appalling; Farron conjured a breeze to drive them away from the camp.

Finally, drained, she collapsed panting onto a nearby rock. All that was left of Rurisk was blackened bones.

"It'll do," said Farron, kicking leaves over the remains. The skull went spinning and cracked against the base of the statue; he shrugged and left it. "Come on, we need to get Ardri and go."

"What? But – won't that look suspicious?"

He rubbed wearily at his forehead. "Whichever way you slice it, they'll wake up tomorrow and find him gone, and they'll look at us first whether we're there or not. We're the only ones they haven't known their whole lives."

"But there's..."

"Yes?"

She elected not to utter the words 'no proof'. Although Farron and Ardri had never made any secret of the fact that they considered her hugely pampered and sheltered, even she had seen enough to know that sometimes proof didn't matter. Her companions had, after much debate, left their staves at Great-Aunt Betrice's home, in order to be less conspicuous; but Themis had come to realise that in times like these, being a stranger was nearly as bad as being a mage.

"I'm sorry, Farron. I guess you don't get any rest tonight after all."

He shrugged. "Ah, it's not so bad. They've more important things to do than go chasing around Ferelden after us, we don't need that big a head start. But there is something you can do if you want to make it up to me."

"What?"

"When Ardri asks why you did it, leave me out of it. Say he went after you."

* * *

"She never did ask, though. I think she knew more about what was going on than he gave her credit for." Themis took the skull from Varric and turned it meditatively in her hands. "I don't know what happened next day. This is still here, so maybe they never found it, or didn't realise it was him... at any rate, if they looked for us, they didn't find us. And this..." she dropped the skull, "Is just one more casualty of the war – one who deserved it far more than most.

"Poor Farron." She shook her head. "He talked a good game, but underneath it all was this scared boy. He'd rather run than fight, and rather give in – if it was safer – than run. That's why he stayed in the Ostwick Circle as long as he did. It must have taken so much courage to leave, and I never realised. It all seems so much clearer in hindsight."

"That's not the only thing that's clearer, is it? You didn't really know why you killed Rurisk at the time, I think."

"No. No, I didn't. I didn't know the... monster was there, not then. I could have explained it all easily enough, like I could have explained a lot of other things. These weren't uncontrolled outbursts – I knew exactly what I was doing, I'd just blinded myself to the why. I never imagined a rage demon might take an interest in me, but it knew. When I think how close I came..." She shivered. "And it's still there. To it, it might as well have been yesterday. I was too late realising where we were, or I wouldn't have set up camp here."

"You don't think you can see it off?"

"I don't know. My denial shut it out the first time. Now that I'm seeing more clearly, I _ought_ to be less vulnerable, but..."

"Surely Chuckles can help."

"I don't think I'm his favourite person right now. I mean, I understand, I still don't know whether it was the right decision... but it was what I had to do. Dorian's right, you can't just tell someone it's time for them to forgive. Cole wasn't ready for that, even if he'd listened he might just have pushed the anger down and let it fester, like I did..."

"Who are you trying to convince here, Herald?"

She snorted ruefully and raised her hands.

Varric continued, "If he's being honest, even Chuckles would have to admit he doesn't really know how Cole fits together. But rage demons he does know – and you know how he likes it when you ask for his advice."

"You're right." She sighed. "If I'm still not happy, a night without sleep won't kill me. Would you..." She stopped, and Varric realised she was watching a light moving through the trees behind him. Turning, he saw that it was on Solas' staff.

"Nice timing, Chuckles."

"Very nice," Themis agreed. "How did you do that?"

"I didn't," said Solas as he came to a halt in front of them. "Cole should get the credit."

"Of course. He knew I needed you."

"No. He said you need to know you don't need me. It piqued my interest."

"Oh. I see." She picked at a fingernail, then shrugged. "Well, even if I don't, your expertise certainly won't hurt. Let me start from the beginning..."


	7. The Freedom of her House

"They put him in a cell and... forgot him?"

"Apparently." Themis daintily pulled a fishbone from her mouth and set it on the side of the plate.

Cullen shook his head. "At least that's one thing I can say I've never done to a mage. Or permitted on my watch. What utter incompetence."

"Incompetence?" There was an edge in her voice and expression that put him on guard. "Is that the most appropriate word you can think of?"

"What word would you use?"

Her cutlery clattered onto the remains of her trout. "Callousness? Contempt? How about evil? I don't think the word you'd use for a, a cook who mixes up the sugar and salt really covers it."

"Evil? There was no malice there, they just..."

"Just what? Just thought so little of him, they could forget he existed long enough for him to starve in the dark? Who were they protecting, dumping a new arrival in a cell in the first place? Saving themselves the trouble of getting him properly settled, more like! Or making sure he knew who was in charge, as if he wouldn't have caught on already. How is that better than hating us? At least if you see us as monsters, you actually _see_ us! You..." She shook her head sharply, took a deep breath and looked down.

Cullen judged that this was a good moment to keep quiet.

When she looked up, she was more like herself again, though still flushed. "I have no problem believing you, you know. So sometimes you let your feelings cloud your judgement. So sometimes you erred on the side of protecting from us rather than protecting us. You're only human. But seeing us as inconvenient trash you could just shove aside - I don't think that's in you."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

Her expression softened. "Just needed to get that off my chest, I suppose." She picked up her fork again and poked at her food. "You know what I miss? Fresh sea fish. The stuff you get from the river just isn't the same."  
"I don't. Miss it, I mean. But then I never ate any before Kirkwall."

"Not too easy to get in Kinloch Hold, I guess."

"Or Honnleath." He glanced around, trying not to think of the number of people who, when the Inquisitor had decided he was having dinner in her room, had had a quite legitimate need to know whether she planned on keeping him all night. She'd raised an eyebrow when he'd insisted on having his armour and sword to hand, albeit not actually on him. There would be sniggering tomorrow, but at least for tonight he was out of the rain. "I'm glad you can talk about this. I think you were right – shutting your anger away wasn't safe."

"No... there was this rage demon. I first met it on my way to the Conclave and... it got close. Too close. Then I ran into again the other day – it's tempting to say it had changed, but it was me. Between my new self-awareness and Solas' help... all I saw was this wounded creature, howling and flailing and no threat to me at all. Of course, it's not safe giving in to anger, either. For me or anybody else."

"We all have to find a balance. The stakes are higher for a mage, it's true. But you'll work it out. I trust you."

"That's the thing, isn't it? Trust. People who've never even seen a mage, let alone an abomination, don't trust us. The Chantry doesn't trust us to marry, and if they did we wouldn't be allowed to raise our own children."

Cullen stared at his plate, feeling his face colouring.

After a few moments, she said, "Cullen? Why the sudden bashful?"

"Well..." He took a breath. "After you said you wanted to be with me... I... I started thinking..."

"About children?"

He nodded.

"So how did you feel about that?"

"Ashamed."

"Uh..."

He felt a sneaky bit of satisfaction. It wasn't often he surprised her. "In all the years I served, I never considered things from that perspective."

"The parents'? I expect you were discouraged from such thoughts."

"Naturally. But I did have a choice."

She pushed her plate away and toyed thoughtfully with her wine glass. "So did this new perspective lead you to any conclusions?"

"Yes. Anyone who tries to take my children away will have to go through me. If I, uh, we, uh... have children. And yes," he continued, "I'm aware that makes me something of a hypocrite. I don't particularly care."

"You're allowed to change. Of course, there is a difference between having our child taken away, and us deciding freely that a Circle would be the best place for them."

"Yes. We don't know what the Circles might be like in ten years' time."

"Anyway, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Even assuming we live long enough for offspring, it's not as if magic runs terribly strongly in my family - or at all in yours?"

"Not as far as I know. Maybe they will be..." He caught himself before uttering the word 'normal'.

She pushed abruptly away from the table, stood and prowled over to the window. Looked out at the steadily-drumming rain, but Cullen was willing to bet she wasn't seeing it. Her heels were raised slightly, her restless pose betraying her agitation in a way he'd come to recognise easily since that day in his office. He fought down his own nerves, the urge to fill the silence, to ask whether she'd realised what he'd almost said and tell her he was sorry, and concentrated instead on mopping up the last of the rather good sauce on his plate. When she was ready to share, she'd say so.

"We're having this conversation," she said, turning back to face him.

Cullen chewed slowly, buying time to catch up. Themis came over to sit back down, unhurried but still tense.

He swallowed. "This conversation, which would have been unthinkable not so long ago."

"Which in Kirkwall would have got you tossed out and me branded." There was a cold light in her eyes, and she added softly, "Trouble is, Meredith wasn't really such an outlier when you get right down to it."

He shivered. He always did, when he had cause to visualise Themis with a sunburst on her forehead, eyes empty, voice flat and lifeless. No, not just Meredith. Some of Kirkwall's excesses had been secret even from him; others had been well-known, and those who were supposed to care had let them go on and on. And even in the less oppressive Circles... this would never have been allowed.

"A conversation about settling down and having children," she continued. "Dangerous heresy, because one of us is a mage. I _accepted_ this. For _years_. That's the world they want us to go back to. Where mages are indentured for life, where our most intimate decisions are policed. The world where an innocent boy gets to starve in a forgotten cell. _I will not have it._ "

This was new. Rage neither buried and festering, nor wild, undirected, not quite articulate. It was focussed, targeted - useful. The kind of thing one could work with in a fight.

Maker. Cole had for once attended to his own needs - and given Themis what _she_ needed. Could he have planned it? Did he even know?

"What instead, then?"

"I don't know. I don't. Nobody does, least of all those who claim they do. I do know that there's more than one way to raise a mage child into a good mage. And I'm certain the Chantry has done enormous harm insisting that its way is the only right one, because _that_ is what made it cruel and unjust and even counterproductive, not anything fundamentally wrong with the Circles themselves. Take Redcliffe. Supposing the Arlessa could have kept Connor at home and hired a Circle-approved tutor."

"One rule for the rich?" he queried mildly.

She shrugged. "Twas ever thus. Maybe smaller Circles, more spread out so that family visits are easier. And we know it's possible for a mage to raise their own children right. Not that Hawke is necessarily the best example..."

"After everything she's been through, and not a trace of blood magic? She's done for more maleficar and demons than most templars. _And_ she's a lay sister, now. Not a bad example, if politically... thorny."

The room filled with meditative silence. Cullen watched Themis; Themis looked off into the distance. He had a sense there was something else she wanted to talk about.

She came back from wherever she'd gone and said, "Do you remember the last time you were in my bedroom?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he'd never been in this room before; then he realised what she meant. "The only other time I was in your bedroom, you mean. While you were awake, anyway."

Even as it dawned on him what he had just said, her eyebrows were rising and her mouth shaping itself into a wry smirk.

"I mean, I was there _once_. While you were recovering from that first fight at the Breach. The alchemist was in the room, and a Sister. And you know perfectly well I meant that."

"Well, not that specifically, but I did give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you haven't been sneaking in to watch me sleep."

" _Anyway._ Yes, I remember."

"Anyway. You asked me a question. I think I'm ready to talk about it."

"All right."

"After the rogue templars killed the Ostwick delegation, as you know I ended up travelling with two mages who weren't actually supposed to be outside. There was Ardri, who started out in the Ostwick alienage. Bit of a late bloomer in terms of magic. Former burglar, tough as nails, though you'd never know it to look at her. Bigger on keeping her head down and out of trouble than on politics – but I guess the other one needed help, and he could be more than persuasive.

"And his name..." She cleared her throat and drained her glass. "His name was Farron Glitner."

He stared at her. "You're... no, of course you're not joking. The second time he escaped, he made it to Ostwick before he got caught. I remember."

"That's one bit he never understood. Wouldn't it have been normal practice to send him back where he came from?" Themis filled up their glasses.

"It would, but Meredith slipped up. She sent your Knight-Commander a letter in which she referred to Farron as a maleficar – she tended to assume that of any mage who stepped out of line, especially towards the end when the lyrium was taking hold. She got back a letter saying that, despite the young man having put up quite a fight, the templars who caught him had reported no evidence of blood magic. That being the case, Sonnilon did not intend to send him to certain Tranquility or execution. Meredith was not happy. She thought he'd been – you know, influenced. It contributed still more to her paranoia, not that I can fault him. He _was_ right."

"He's a good man – and if it hadn't been for Farron, I'd never have made it to Haven. Funny how things work out. Speaking of which, unless there was a different dog-lord jackass among Kirkwall's templars, I'm guessing you were the one who...?" She gestured at her cheek.

"Is that what he called me? Not surprising. Yes, I gave him the scar. It was an accident – I caught him the first time he escaped and went to hit him with the flat of my blade. I misjudged it. That was when the tattoo started. Did it keep growing after he got away?"

"Oh yes. It covered half his face in the end. One evening when we had nothing to do, I let him give me this." Themis pointed to the discreet pattern of dots and lines which half-outlined her left eye.

"I wouldn't have thought you two got on very well."

"We didn't. Cat and dog. Mostly avoided each other, before. But we hadn't made it very far before Ardri vowed that if she had to listen to one more argument, we were both going to wake up with slit throats. I'm sure she was exaggerating, but we got the point – and we found we had a lot in common, once we weren't going at it over politics all the time." She lowered her gaze. "Before that, I'd always assumed he was lying."

"About what went on at Kirkwall?"

"Yes. He'd had quite a bit to say on that subject, back in the Circle. Enough that, once I'd accepted he was more than just a malcontent, I became quite disturbed. In fact, when I found out about your background, I'm afraid I... made some rather poor assumptions."

He winced. "And Leliana didn't know any of that."

"Where does she come into this?"

"She guessed being alone with me would upset you. She arranged it that day because she believed it would show you that you could trust me. Us."

"What? That, that – minx!"

"That's how I felt, too," he said drily, "when she explained afterwards. It did work, though, didn't it?"

Her face coloured. "Yes. It did, and more. When you apologised for even trying to touch me without permission..." She stared at her plate. "I'd always tried so hard to be good. To win the approval of authority. Always been so afraid of the consequences of being bad. And then I was bad, and I thought I'd be punished... but you were... understanding. And I started to see I wasn't just the mark to you, or just my magic, or a noble name that didn't even want me. All the way to Haven I'd been in fear of how anyone I met would treat me if they found out what I was... but you knew. You knew, and I never thought you'd be... kind."

He reached across the table to cover her hand with his. "I saw how scared you were – belatedly. I so hated the thought that I'd upset you."

She freed her thumb and curled it over his.

"So it was Farron and Ardri you found, that day in the mountains?" he asked.

"Ardri came with me. Quite good, really – there was no official Ostwick delegation any more, and she was useful in getting us in. So we know how it must have ended for her. But Farron saw all the templars around and got squirrelly – found a cave to hide in and told us to get him if things were going well." She sighed and pulled her hand free; Cullen thought she wasn't even aware that she'd started massaging her left palm. "It's no use blaming myself. I think the demons got him before I'd even woken up."

"But you do anyway."

"A little. That wasn't what hurt. He deserved better, that's all. And... he was all that remained of before. Without him, it was me, the mark and a bunch of strangers. When I found what was left of him, I felt so alone. Nobody to trust."

"I'm sorry. But... I helped?"

"You did. And now you're not strangers any more, and I'm not at all the same person who left Ostwick. I don't know how I'd relate, now, to someone who knew me back then. I don't know why I'd ever go back, either. Well, maybe for the fish."

"There are plenty of other places you can get fresh sea fish."

"Good point."

"What about your family?"

She snorted. "I've seen any of them exactly once since I was eight, and I can't say the thought of never seeing them again fills me with sadness. I'm fairly sure the feeling's mutual, too."

Cullen nodded sorrowfully.

She eyed him sidelong. "What, no sorries? No but-they're-family? Ah, but you've seen families who just wanted their mages gone, haven't you? I should have thought of that."

"Yes. It's a shame they feel that way – but their loss more than yours, I think."

"Mmm, you say the sweetest things. Speaking of which, dessert. I propose an end to serious topics for the rest of the evening."

"Dessert's not serious?"

"Yes, but we don't need to _talk_ about it."

"Ah. I see." He smiled slyly, watching as she got up to gather the dishes. "And is anything else happening tonight that we don't need to talk about?" He picked a moment when she had nothing in her hands, seized her around the waist and pulled her across his lap, occasioning a squeak of mock outrage before she made herself comfortable with her arms around his neck. The feel of her flesh through the silk was intoxicating; or maybe it was the wine.

"I suppose it might," she murmured. "After that, I'll defeat Corypheus, and you will take some time off if I have to have you dragged in here and chained to the end of my bed."

"That would be an appalling abuse of your office. Also, I doubt being chained up would be good for my, ah, performance."

"More fun for both of us if you do as you're told, then."

"Can't fault that logic." He slid his hands up her back, drawing her closer; she pulled his head against her chest and held tight. "And our children will be fine, mage or not," he said softly. "Because we're going to make the world a better place."

"Yes," she whispered.

They held each other for a long time. Tomorrow, with courage and compassion and righteous anger, she would be back to saving the world; and he would be behind her, her protector, her rock, through the Void and back if needs be.

But for tonight, there was only the two of them, with a warm bedroom and the rain shut out, with love and hope and, eventually, dessert.

* * *

 **A/N And we're done. Many thanks to all who've stuck with it - I hope you weren't disappointed.**


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